Paul Hopkins: Now, comes the winter of our discontent...

Over a beer, my publisher Dave tells me: "I’m still in denial over the end of summer. It’s more than officially autumn, and I feel like I’ve forgotten to do something. There’s this crumpled mental checklist I’ve been trying to unfold, something I’d tossed to the back of my mind."

"He's got it bad and SAD," says Yer Man at the Bar.

I quip: "Wait 'till the clocks go back..."

"TikTok," says Yer Man at the Bar. "TikTok."

Dave is maybe one of those 10% of us who suffer from Seasonal Adjustment Disorder (SAD). Now, that the evenings are shorter, the nights longer and the temperature is dropping, and clocks going back on October 25th, the accompanying temptation is to stay snug indoors with heat – if you can afford such after the Budget, that is – rather than making the effort to get outside. With climate change continuously on the agenda, in one guise or other, it’s no wonder people on the road to the Winter Solstice get waylaid by SAD. I feel sad when the clocks go back, you might hear people say. Others might just as easily say: "Won’t be long now ‘til Christmas." (Oh, please, let's not go there). And, while those who are not affected by SAD dismiss it as some type of yuppie flu, more imagined than real, others will tell you they feel down during the dank, dark days of winter. "People who truly have SAD are just as ill as people with any depressive disorder," says my psychologist friend from Magherafelt, quoting research at the University of Copenhagen. It seems about one in every 10 of us suffers SAD. Such people struggle through autumn and winter and suffer from many of the same symptoms as what is termed 'clinical depression'. And in the northern hemisphere, as many as one in three may suffer from ‘winter blues’ where we feel flat or uninterested in things and are regularly just dog-tired.

Common symptoms of the winter blues can include: losing enjoyment in things that used to be fun; withdrawing from people; oversleeping an hour or more every day; appetite changes, especially craving foods that are high in carbohydrates; and tiredness or low energy.

One school of thought for the existence of all this sadness is that it is as old as is celebrating the Winter Solstice and has its origins in the proverbial mists of time. Four out of five SAD sufferers are women, particularly – and strangely – those in early adulthood, according to research from Oxford University. In older women, the prevalence of the syndrome goes down and some researchers believe this pattern is linked to the behavioural cycles of our ancient ancestors.

It seems that when we had the Ice Age, 10,000 years ago, a biological tendency to slow down during winter was useful, especially for women of reproductive age, with pregnancy being very energy-intensive. But now that we have a 24/7 society, we’re expected to be active all the time, all year round. And in winter that can be exhausting. However, says the Oxford research, as to why a small proportion of people experience it so severely, that it is completely disabling, we just don’t know.

When you get to a certain stage in life, as I have, you embrace each season: you have, to quote the poet William Henry Davies, more time to stand and stare. An invigorating walk in a winter wood can work wonders. According to research at Dublin’s Royal College of Surgeons, exercising in the cold has been shown to stimulate the body’s ‘brown adipose tissue’ – that’s ‘brown fat’ to you and me. This fat is interesting because, unlike white fat which handles energy storage, the brown fellow is involved in heat production and energy expenditure. So as brown fat burns calories to generate heat, it can burn off your excess white fat. Some medics even call it ‘good fat’. Roaring fires and hot whiskies aside, we all have our own idiosyncratic way of dealing with the dark days of winter. My mother's sister Eveline would take to the overcoat and the hot-water bottle clutched close to her tummy for the duration – day and night. My mother would throw her old musquash over the bed my brother and I shared as boys. Or as farmer Hugh of Lacken, Co Wicklow said to me once: "I was so warm in the bed last night, I got up and took off the overcoat."

No talk of heat or eat back then ...